CIHM 
Microfiche 


(IVIonographs) 


ICMH 

Collection  de 
microfiches 
(monographies) 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microredroductions/lnstitut  canadien  de  microreprodMctions  historique.* 


©2000 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best  original 
copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this  copy  which 
may  be  bibliographically  unique,  which  may  alter  any  of 
the  images  in  the  reproduction,  or  which  may 
significantly  change  the  usual  method  of  filming  are 
checked  below. 


Coloured  covers  / 
Couverture  de  couleur 

Covers  damaged  / 
Couverture  endommag^e 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Couverture  restaur^e  et/ou  pellicul^e 

Cover  title  missing  /  Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps  /  Cartes  g^ographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)  / 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bieue  ou  noire) 

Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations  / 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material  / 
Reli6  avec  d'autres  documents 

Only  edition  available  / 
Seule  Edition  disponible 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion  along 
interior  margin  /  La  reiiure  serr6e  peut  causer  de 
I'ombre  ou  de  la  distorsion  le  long  de  la  marge 
interieure. 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restorations  may  appear 
within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these  have  been 
omitted  from  filming  /  II  se  peut  que  cerlaines  pages 
blanches  ajout6es  lors  d'une  restauration 
apparaissent  dans  le  texte,  mais,  lorsque  cela  6tait 
possible,  ces  pages  n'ont  pas  et6  film6es. 

Additional  comments  / 
Commentaires  suppl6mentaires: 


D 

D 

D 
D 

D 
D 
D 
D 
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L'Institut  a  microfilm6  le  meilleur  exemplaire  qu'il  lui  a 
6\i  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaire qui  sont  peut-6tre  uniques  du  point  de  vue  bibli- 
ographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier  une  image  reproduite, 
ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modification  dans  la  m6tho- 
de  normale  de  filmage  sont  indiqu^s  ci-dessous. 

I      I  Coloured  pages  /  Pages  de  couleur 

I I   Pages  damaged  /  Pages  endommag6es 

□   Pages  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Pages  restaur^es  et/ou  pellicul^es 

r~T/ Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed  / 
L±J   Pages  d^color^es,  tachet^es  ou  piqu^es 

I      I   Pages  detached  /  Pages  d6tach6es 

I  v/|   Showthrough  / Transparenca 

□  Quality  of  print  varies  / 
Quality  in^gale  de  t'impression 

Includes  supplementary  material  / 
Comprend  du  mdt^riel  suppl^mentaire 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata  slips, 
tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  totalement  ou 
partiellement  obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une 
pelure,  etc.,  ont  6t6  film6es  k  nouveau  de  fafon  k 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 

Opposing  pages  with  varying  colouration  or 
discolourations  are  filmed  twice  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  s'opposant  ayant  des 
colorations  variables  ou  des  decolorations  sont 
film§es  deux  fois  afin  d'obtenir  la  meilleure  image 
possible. 


n 


D 


D 


This  item  it  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below  / 

Ce  document  est  film*  au  taux  de  rMuction  indiqu6  ci-dessous. 


lOx 

14x 

18x 

22x 

26x 

30x 

/ 

12x 

16x 

20x 

24x 

28x 

32x 

Th«  copy  filmed  h«r«  hu  b««n  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generotity  of: 


L'txamplair*  filmi  fut  raproduit  grica  i  la 
ginArositi  da: 


McMaster  University 
Hamilton,  Ontario 


McMaster  University 
Hamilton,  Ontario 


Tha  imagas  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  originel  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specificationa. 


Las  imagas  suivantes  ont  4t*  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattet*  de  I'exemplaire  filmS.  et  en 
conformity  avec  lea  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmago. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  iliuatratad  improa- 
sion.  or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  tha 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  iliuatratad  impras- 
sion.  and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shell  contain  the  symbol  ^^  (meaning  "CON* 
TINUEO"),  or  the  symbol  ▼  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  an 
papier  est  imprimis  sont  filmis  en  commencant 
par  la  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  psr  la 
darniire  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'iiiustration.  soit  par  la  second 
plat,  salon  la  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmis  en  commencant  par  la 
premiire  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'iiiustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  darniire  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  dee  symboles  suivants  spparaitra  sur  la 
darniire  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  ^^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE".  le 
symbols  ▼  signifie  "FIN". 


Mapa.  plates,  charts,  etc..  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  sre  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hend  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartea,  planches,  tableaux,  etc..  peuvent  if 
filmis  i  des  taux  da  riduction  diffirents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  itre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichi.  il  est  filmi  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supirieur  gauche,  de  gauche  i  droite. 
et  do  haut  en  bas.  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nicessaire.  lies  diagrammes  suivants 
iliustrent  la  mithodo. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

MICROCOPY   RESOLUTION   TEST   CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No    2| 


1.0 

150      "™^SS 

u. 

1-L.u 

i£ 

|2£ 

I.I 

n.8 

1.25 


1.6 


^     APPLIED  IIVHGE 


1653   Cost   Mam   Street 

Rochester,    New    York  14609        USA 

(716)   482  -  0300  -  Phone 

(716)   288  -  5989  -  fox 


^fiifflK 


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01UJ5  of  Habor 


^■flonis  Ixnsftifflti 


n.i   /  r  .1 


nv 


^imm 


STORAGE 


892491  R8t3 


C  1 


3    9005    0479    8943    ;i 


m^'m^ 


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SONGS  OF  LABOR 

AND  OTHER  POEMS  BY 


MORRIS    ROSENFELD 

Translated  from  the  Yiddish  by 
Rose  Pastor  Stokes  and  Helena  Frank 


JhZSiEIEIi^Jiiii 


BOSTON:  RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

THE  COPP  CLARK  CO.,  LiiiirtD.  TORONTO 


Copyrivhi,  1914,  by  RioiMrd  O.  ■•<lc*r 
All  RiKhtt  R«Mrv*4 


THI  GOKHAM  PBItS,  BOSTOIf,    U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 

Page 

In  the  Factory m 

My  Boy ,o 

The  Nightingale  to  the  Workman la 

What  ii  the  World? 14 

Despair    ,5 

Whither?   18 

From  Dawn  to  Dawn 19 

The  Candle  Seller 21 

The  Pale  Operator 24 

The  Beggar  Family 25 

A  Millionaire   28 

September  Melodies 29 

Depression   31 

The  Canary ^2 

Want  and  1 33 

The  Phantom  Vessel 36 

To  my  Misery 38 

O  Long  the  Way 40 

To  the  Fortune  Seeker 41 

My  Youth 42 

In  the  Wilderness 44 

I've  Often  Laughed  45 

Again  I  ^g  my  Songs 46 

Liberty 48 

A  Tree  in  the  Ghetto 50 


The  Cemetery  Nightingale  52 

The  Creation  of  Man ^4 

Journalism    .g 

Pen  and  Shears ,- 

For  Hire   Jg 

A  Fellow  Slave 59 

The  Jewish  May gj 

The  Feast  of  Lights  gr 

Chanukah  Thoughts  55 

Sf"e    '.'.'.'.'.'..'.  67 

Measuring  the  Graves jq 

The  First  Bath  of  Ablution 72 

Atonement  Evening  Prayer 74 

Exit  Holiday   - . 


SONGS  OF  LABOR  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


IN  THE  FACTORY 

Oh,  here  in  the  shop  the  machines  roar  so  wildly, 
rhat  oft,  unaware  that  I  am,  or  have  been, 
I  smk  and  am  lost  in  the  terrible  tumult; 
^d  void  is  my  soul     .     .     .     I  am  but  a  ma- 

chme. 
I  work  and  I  work  and  I  work,  never  ceasing; 
Create  and  create  things  from  morning  till  e'en; 
tor  what?— and  for  whom— Oh,   I  know  notl 

Oh,  ask  not  1 
Who  ever  has  heard  of  a  conscious  machine? 

No,  here  is  no  feeling,  no  thought  and  no  reason; 
1  his  life-crushmg  labor  has  ever  supprest 
The  noblest  and  finest,  the  truest  and  richest. 
The  deepest,  the  highest  and  humanly  best. 
The  seconds,  the  minutes,  they  pass  out  forever 
They  vanish,  swift  fleeting  like  straws  in  a  gale. 
1  drive  the  wheel  madly  as  tho'  to  o'ertake  them,— 
Cjive  chase  without  wisdom,  or  wit,  or  avail. 

The  clock  in  the  workshop,— it  rests  not  a  moment; 

It  points  on,  and  ticks  on :  Eternity— Time ; 

And  once  someone  told  me  the  clock  had  a  mean- 
.  •"&— " 

Its  pointing  and  ticking  had  reason  and  rhyme. 

And  this  too  he  told  me,— or  had  I  been  dream- 
ing,— 

The  clock  wakened  life  in  one,  forces  unseen, 

And  something  besides;  .  .  .  I  forget  what; 
Oh,  ask  notl 

I  know  not,  I  know  not,  I  am  a  machine. 


At  times,  when  I  listen,  I  hear  the  clock  plainly; — 
The  reason  of  old — the  old  meaning — is  gone  1 
The  maddening  pendulum  urges  me  forward 
To  labor  and  labor  and  still  labor  on. 
The  tick  of  the  clock  is  the  Boss  in  his  anger  I 
The  face  of  the  clock  has  the  eyes  of  a  foe ; 
The  clock — Oh,  1  shudder— dost  hear  how  it  drives 

me  ? 
It  calls  me  "Machine  1"  and  it  cries  to  me  "Sew!" 

At  noon,  when  about  me  the  wild  tumult  ceases. 
And  gone  is  the  master,  and  I  sit  apart. 
And  dawn  in  my  brain  is  beginning  to  glimmer. 
The  wound  comes  agape  at  3ie  core  of  my  heart; 
And  tears,  bitter  tears  flow;    ay,  tears  that  are 

scalding; 
They  moisten  my  dinner — ^my  dry  crust  of  bread; 
They  choke  me,— I  cannot  eat;— no,  no,  I  can- 
not 1 
Oh,  horrible  toil  I  bom  of  Need  and  of  Dread. 

The  sweatshop  at  mid-day— I'll  draw  you  the  pic- 
ture: 

A  battlefield  bloody;  the  conflict  at  rest; 

Around  and  about  me  the  corpses  are  lying; 

The  blood  cries  aloud  from  the  earth's  gory  breast. 

A  moment  .  .  .  and  hark  I  The  loud  signal 
is  sounded. 

The  dead  rise  again  and  renewed  is  the  fight  .  .  . 

They  struggle,  these  corpses;  for  strangers,  for 
strangers  1 

They  struggle,  they  fall,  and  they  sink  into  night. 


.(■ 


( 


I  gaze  on  the  battle  in  bitterest  anger, 
And  pain,  hellish  pain  wakes  the  rebel  in  me  I 
The  clock— now  I  hear  it  aright  1—    It  is  crying: 
An  end  to  this  bondage  I  An  end  there  must  be!" 
It  ouickens  my  reason,  each  feeling  within  me; 
It  shows  me  how  precious  the  moments  that  fly. 
Oh,  worthless  my  life  if  I  longer  am  silent, 
And  lost  to  the  world  if  in  silence  I  die. 

The  man  in  me  sleeping  begins  to  awaken ; 
Th.    Ang  that  was  slave  into  slumber  has  passed : 
No\r ,  up  with  the  man  in  me  I    Up  and  be  doing  1 
No  miserv  more  I    Here  is  freedom  at  last  I 
When  sudden :  a  whistle !— the  Boss— an  alarum  1— 
I  sink  in  the  slime  of  the  stagnant  routine;— 
There's  tumult,  they  struggle,  oh,  lost  is  my  ego;— 
I  know  not,  I  care  not,  I  am  a  machine  I     .     .     . 


MY  BOY 

I  have  a  little  boy  at  home, 

A  pretty  little  son ; 

I  think  sometimes  the  world  is  mine 

In  him,  my  only  one. 

But  seldom,  seldom  do  I  see 
My  child  in  heaven's  light ; 
I  find  him  always  fast  asleep     .     . 
I  see  him  but  at  night. 

Ere  dawn  my  labor  drives  me  forth ; 
'Tis  night  when  I  am  free; 
A  stranger  am  I  to  my  child ; 
And  strange  my  child  to  me. 

I  come  in  darkness  to  my  home, 
With  weariness  and— pay; 
My  pallid  wife,  she  waits  to  tell 
The  things  he  learned  to  say. 

How  plain  and  prettily  he  asked : 
"Dear  mamma,  when's  'Tonight'? 

0  when  will  come  my  dear  papa 
And  bring  a  penny  bright?" 

1  hear  her  words— I  hasten  out— 
This  moment  must  it  be  1— 

The  father-love  flames  in  my  breast : 
My  child  must  look  at  me  I 


H. 


xo 


I  stand  beside  the  tiny  cot, 

And  look,  and  list,  and— ah ! 

A  dream*thought  moves  the  baby-lips : 

"O,  where  is  my  papa !" 

I  kiss  and  kiss  the  shut  blue  eyes; 
I  kiss  them  not  in  vain. 
They  open,— O  they  see  me  then! 
And  straightway  close  again. 

"Here's  your  papa,  mv  precious  one;- 
A  penny  for  you  I"— ah ! 
A  dream  still  moves  the  baby-lips : 
"O,  where  is  my  papa !" 

And  I— I  think  in  bitterness 
And  disappointment  sore; 
"Some  day  you  will  awake,  my  child. 
To  find  me  nevermore." 


II 


THE  NIGHTINGALE  TO  THE 
WORKMAN 

Fair  summer  is  here,  glad  summer  is  here  I 
O  hark  I  'tis  to  you  I  am  singing : 
The  sun  is  all  gold  in  a  heaven  of  blue, 
The  birds  in  the  forest  are  trilling  for  you, 
The  flies  'mid  the  grasses  are  winging; 
The  little  brook  babbles— its  secret  is  sweet. 
The  loveliest  flowers  would  circle  your  feet,— 
And  you  to  your  work  ever  clinging  1     .     .     . 
Come  forth  1     Nature  loves  you.     Come  forth! 

Do  not  fear ! 
Fair  summer  is  here,  glad  summer  is  here. 
Full  measure  of  happiness  bringina;. 
All  creatures  drink  deep;    and  they  pour  wine 

anew 
In  the  old  cup  of  life,  and  they  wonder  at  you. 
Your  portion  is  waiting  since  summer  began; 
Then  take  it,  oh,  take  it,  you  laboring  man! 

'Tis  summer  today;  ay,  summer  today! 

The  butterflies  light  on  the  flowers. 

Delightfully  glistens  the  silvery  rain. 

The  mountains  are  covered  with  greenness  again, 

And  perfumed  and  cool  are  the  bowers. 

The  sheep  frisk  about  in  the  flowery  vale, 

The  shepherd  and  shepherdess  pause  in  the  dale, 

And  these  are  the  holiest  hours!     .     .     . 

Delay  not,  delay  not,  life  passes  away! 

'Tis  summer  today,  sweet  summer  today! 

Come,  throttle  your  wheel's  grinding  power !  .  .  . 

Your  worktime  is  bitter  and  endless  in  length; 

And  have  you  not  foolishly  lavished  your  strength  ? 

12 


0  think  not  the  world  is  with  bitterness  r'lh. 
But  drink  of  the  wine  from  the  goblet  of  life. 

O,  summer  is  here,  sweet  summer  is  here  I 

1  cannot  forever  be  trilling; 

I  flee  on  the  morrow.     Then,  you,  have  a  care! 
The  crow,  from  the  perch  I  am  leaving,  the  air 
With  ominous  cries  will  be  filling. 
C,  while  I  am  singing  to  you  from  my  tree 
Of  love,  and  of  life,  and  of  joy  yet  to  be, 
Arouse  you!— O  why  so  unwilling  I     .     .     . 
The  heavens  remain  not  so  blue  and  so  clear;  — 
Now  summer  is  here !    Come,  summer  is  here  I 
Reach  out  for  the  joys  that  are  thrilling  I 
For  like  you  who  fade  at  your  wheel,  day  by  day, 
Soon  all  things  will  fade  and  be  carried  away. 
Our  lives  are  but  moments;    and  sometimes  the 

cost 
Of  a  moment  o'erlooked  is  eternity  lost. 


13 


WHAT  IS  THE  WORLD? 


Well,  say  you  the  world  is  a  chamber  of  sleep, 
And  life  but  a  sleeping  and  dreaming? 
Then  I  too  would  dream :  and  would  joyously  reap 
The  blooms  of  harmonious  seeming; 
The  dream-flow'rs  of  hope  and  of  freedom,  per- 
chance. 
The  rich  are  so  merrily  reaping;— 
In  Love's  eyes  I'd  fancy  the  joy  of  romance; 
No  more  would  I  dream  Love  is  weeping. 

Or  say  you  the  world  is  a  banauet,  a  ball. 

Where  everyone  ^s  who  is  able  ? 

I  too  wish  to  sit  like  a  lord  in  the  hall 

With  savory  share  at  the  table. 

I  too  can  enjoy  what  is  wholesome  and  good, 

A  morsel  both  dainty  and  healthy ; 

I  have  in  my  body  the  same  sort  of  blood 

That  flows  in  the  veins  of  the  wealthy. 

A  garden  you  say  is  the  world,  where  abound 

The  sweetest  and  loveliest  roses? 

Then  would  I,  no  leave  asking,  saunter  around 

And  gather  me  handfuls  of  posies. 

Of  thorns  I  am  sure  I  would  make  me  no  wreath ; 

(Of  flowers  I  am  very  much  fonder). 

And  with  my  beloved  the  bowers  beneath 

I'd  wander,  and  wander,  and  wander. 


14 


sap 
ler- 


But  ah  I  if  the  world  is  a  battlefield  wild, 
Where  itrusgle  the  weak  with  the  stronger, 
Then  heed  I  no  storm  and  no  wife  and  no  child! 
I  stand  in  abeyance  no  longer;— 
Rush  into  the  fire  of  the  battle  nor  yield, 
And  fight  for  my  perishing  brother; 
Well,  if  I  am  struck— I  can  die  on  the  field; 
Die  gladly  as  well  as  another.     .     .     . 


th; 


IS 


DESPAIR 

No  rest-not  one  day  in  the  seven  for  me? 
Not  one,  from  the  maddening  yoke  to  be  free? 
Not  one  to  escape  from  the  boss  on  the  prowl. 
His  smister  glance  and  his  furous  growl^ 
The  cry  of  the  foreman,  the  smell  of  the  shop,- 
lo  tcel  for  one  moment  the  manacles  drop? 
-  /  ts  rest  then  you  want,  and  you  fain  would  for. 

To  rest  and  oblivion  they'll  carry  you  yet. 

The  flow'rs  and  the  trees  will  have  withered  ere 
long, 

Thf  last  bird  already  is  ending  his  song; 

And    soon    will    be    leafless    and   shadelcss  the 

bow'rs     .     .     . 
I  long  oh  I  long  for  the  perfume  of  flow'rs  I 
I  o  feel  for  a  momen^  ere  stripped  are  the  trees, 
In  meadow  lands  open,  the  breath  of  the  breeze. 
-  You  long  for  the  meadow  lands  breezv  and  fair? 
O,  soon  enough  others  will  carry  you  there. 

The  rivulet  sparkles  with  heavenly  light, 

The  wavelets  they  glisten,  with  diamonds  bedight. 

Uh,  but  for  a  moment  to  leap  in  the  stream. 

And  play  ,n  the  waters  that  ripple  and  gleam ! 

My  body  is  weakened  with  terrible  toil  - 

1  he  bath  would  refresh  me,  renew  me  the  while. 

'T    -H  "''"  "^.^  ^'''^  '"  *^^  shimmerinir  stream? 
Iwill  come-when  forever  is  ended  your  dream. 


i6 


The  sweatshop  is  smoky  and  gloom v  and  mean— 
I  strive— oh,  now  vainly  I  strive  to  be  clean! 
All  day  I  am  covered  with  grime  and  with  dirt. 
You'd  laujgh,— but  I  long  for  a  spotless  white  shirt! 
For  life  that  is  noble,  'tis  needful,  I  ween, 
To  work  as  a  man  should ;  and  still  be  as  clean. 
—So  now  'tis  your  wish  all  in  white  to  be  dressed f 
In  white  they  will  robe  you,  and  lay  you  to  rest. 

The  woods  they  are  cool,  and  the  woods  they  are 

free;— 
To  dream  and  to  wander,  how  sweet  it  would  be  I 
The  birds  their  eternal  glad  holidav  keep; 
With  sons  that  enchants  you  and  lulls  you  to  sleep. 
Tis  hot  nere,— and  close!  and  the  din  will  not 

cease. 
I  long  for  the  forest,  its  coolth  and  its  peace. 
—Ay,  cool  you  will  soon  be;  and  not  only  cool. 
But  cold  as  no  forest  can  make  you,  O  Fool/ 

I  lone  for  a  friend  -^  'lo  will  comfort  and  cheer, 
And  fill  me  with  cour   (e  when  sorrow  is  near; 
A  comrade,  of  treasures  the  rarest  and  best, 
Who  gives  to  existence  its  crown  and  its  crest; 
And  I  am  an  orphan— and  I  am  alone; 
No  friend  or  companion  to  call  me  his  own. 
—Companions  a-plenty— they're  numberless  too; 
They're  swarming  already  and  waiting  for  you. 


»7 


WHITHER? 

{To  a  Young  Girl) 

Say  whither,  whither,  pretty  one  ? 

The  hour  is  young  at  present  I 

How  hushed  is  all  the  world  around ! 

Ere  dawn— the  streets  hold  not  a  sound. 

O  whither,  whither  do  you  run  ? 

Sleep  at  this  hour  is  pleasant. 

The  flowers  are  dreaming,  dewy-wet: 

The  bird-nests  they  are  silent  yet. 

Where  to,  before  the  rising  sun 

The  world  her  light  is  giving? 

'*To  earn  a  living." 

O  whither,  whither,  pretty  child, 
So  late  at  night  a-stroUing? 
Alone— with  darkness  round  you  curled? 
All  rests  I— and  sleeping  is  the  world. 
Where  drives  you  now  the  wind  so  wild  ? 
The  midnight  bells  are  tolling !     .     .     . 
Day  hath  not  warmed  you  with  her  light; 
What  aid  can'st  hope  then  from  the  night? 
Night's  deaf  and  blind  I-Oh  whither,  child, 
Light-minded  fancies  weaving? 

"To  earn  a  living." 


i8 


FROM  DAWN  TO  DAWN 

I  bend  o*er  the  wheel  at  my  sewing; 
I'm  spent;  and  I'm  hungry  for  rest; 
No  curse  on  the  master  bestowing,— 
No  hell-fires  within  me  are  glowing,— 
Tho'  pain  flares  its  fires  in  n:y  breast. 

I  mar  the  new  cloth  with  my  weeping, 

And  struggle  to  hold  back  the  teai-s; 

A  fever  comes  over  me,  sweeping 

My  veins;  and  all  through  me  goes  creeping 

iV  host  of  black  terrors  and  fears. 

The  wounds  of  the  old  years  achf  newly; 

The  gloom  of  the  shop  hems  me  in; 

But  SIX  o'clock  signals  come  duly: 

O,  freedom  seems  mine  again,  truly     .     .     . 

Unhindered  I  haste  from  the  din. 


Now  home  again,  ailing  and  shaking. 
With  tears  that  are  blinding  my  eyes. 
With  bones  that  are  creaking  and  breaking, 
Unjoyful  of  rest     .     .     .     merely  taking 
A  seat;   hoping  never  to  rise. 

I  gaze  round  me :  none  for  a  greeting  I 
By  Life  for  the  moment  unpressed. 
My  poor  wife  lies  sleeping— and  beating 
A  lip-tune  in  dream  false  and  fleeting. 
My  child  mumbles  close  to  her  breast. 


19 


I  look  on  them,  weeping  in  sorrow, 
And  think:    "When  the  Reaper  has  come- 
When  finds  me  no  longer  the  morrow— 
What  aid  then?— from  whom  will  they  borrow 
The  crust  of  dry  bread  and  the  home  ? 

"What  harbors  that  morrow,"  I  wonder, 
"For  them  when  the  breadwinner's  gone?— 
When  sudden  and  swift  as  the  thunder 
The  bread-bond  is  broken  asunder, 
And  friend  in  the  world  there  is  none." 

A  numbness  my  brain  is  o'ertaking     .     , 
To  sleep  for  a  moment  I  drop : 
Then  start!     ...     In  the  east  light  is  break- 
ing!— 
I  drag  myself,  ailing  and  aching. 
Again  to  the  gloom  of  the  shop. 


20 


THE  CANDLE  SELLER 


In  Hester  Street,  hard  by  a  telegraph  post, 
There  sits  a  poor  woman  as  wan  as  a  ghost. 
Her  pale  face  is  shrunk,  like  the  face  of  the  dead, 
And  yet  you  can  tell  that  her  cheeks  once  were  red. 
But  love,  ease  and  friendship  and  glory,  I  ween. 
May  hardly  the  cause  of  their  fading  have  been. 
Poor  soul,  she  has  wept  so,  she  scarcely  can  see. 
A  skeleton  infant  she  holds  on  her  knee. 
It  tugs  at  her  breast,  and  it  whimpers  and  sleeps. 
But  soon  at  her  cry  it  awakens  and  weeps— 
"Two  cents,  my  good  woman,  three  candles  will 

buy. 
As  bright  as  their  flame  be  my  star  in  the  sky  1" 

Tho'  few  are  her  wares,  and  her  basket  is  small, 
S!  e  earns  her  own  living  by  these,  when  at  all. 
le's  there  with  her  baby  in  wind  and  in  rain. 
In  frost  and  in  snow-fall,  in  weakness  and  pain. 
She  trades  and  she  trades,  through  the  good  times 

and  slack- 
No  home  and  no  food,  and  no  cloak  to  her  back. 
She's  kithless  and  kinless— one  friend  *.  the  most, 
And  that  one  is  silent :  the  telegraph  post  1 
She  asks  for  no  alms,  the  poor  Jewess,  but  still, 
Altho'  she  is  wretched,  forsaken  and  ill. 
She  cries  Sabbath  candles  to  those  that  come  nigh. 
And  all  that  she  pleads  is,  that  people  will  buy. 

To  honor  the  sweet,  holy  Sabbath,  each  one 
With  joy  in  his  heart  to  the  market  has  gone. 
To  shops  and  to  pushcarts  they  hurriedly  tare ; 
But  who  for  the  poor,  wretched  woman  will  care  ? 
A  few  of  her  candles  you  think  they  will  take?— 

ai 


It^l  M*^/^^'"".'  P*"'"'  ^«  fis^  and  the  cake. 
bhe  holds  forth  a  hand  with  the  pitiful  cry: 

But  no  one  has  listened,  and  no  one  has  heard- 
Her  voice  is  so  weak,  that  it  fails  at  each  word, 
f^erchance  the  poor  mite  in  her  lap  understood, 
bhe  hears  mother's  crying-but  where  is  the  good 

I  pray  you,  how  long  will  she  sit  there  and  cry 
Her  candles  so  feebly  to  all  that  pass  by? 
How  long  will  it  be,  do  you  thinf,  ere  her  breath 
Gives  out  in  the  horrible  struggle  witli  Death? 
How  long  will  this  frail  one  in  mother-love  strong, 
Give  suck  to  the  babe  at  her  breast?    Oh.  how 
long  r 

The  child  mother's  tears  used  to  swallow  before, 
But  mother  s  eyes,  nowadays,  shed  them  no  more. 
Uh,  dry  are  the  eyes  now,  and  empty  the  brain, 
The  heart  well-nigh  broken,   the  Breath  drawn 
with  pain. 

^Al^u^'u*"**'  ^*^"'^y'  ^^e  ''alls  out  anew; 
Uh  buy  but  two  candles,  good  women,  but  two  I" 

a"S"  ^k"^''J"1'  °".**»*^  pavement  of  stone 
A  small,  orphaned  basket,  forsaken,  alone. 
Beside  It  IS  sitting  a  corpse,  cold  and  stark: 
Ihe  seller  of  candles-will  nobody  mark? 
Wo,  none  of  the  passers  have  noticed  her  yet. 
Ihe  rich  ones,  on  feasting  are  busily  set, 
And  such  as  are  pious,  you  well  may  believe, 
Have  no  time  to  spare  on  the  gay  Sabbath  eve. 
no  no  one  has  noticed  and  no  one  has  seen. 
And  now  comes  the  nightfall,  and  with  it,  serene, 

22 


The  Princess,  the  Sabbath,  from  Heaven  descends. 
And  all  the  gay  throng  to  the  synagogue  wends. 

Within,  where  they  pray,  all  is  cleanly  and  bright. 
The  cantor  sings  sweetly,  they  list  with  delight. 
But  why  in  a  dream  stands  the  tall  chandelier, 
As  dim  as  the  candles  that  gleam  round  a  bier? 
The  candles  belonged  to  the  woman,  you  know. 
Who  died  in  the  street  but  a  short  time  ago. 
The  rich  and  the  pious  have  brought  them  tonight, 
For  mother  and  child  they  have  set  them  alight. 
The  rich  and  the  pious  their  duty  have  done: 
Her  tapers  are  lighted  who  died  all  alone. 
The  rich  and  the  pious  are  nobly  behaved : 
A  body— what  matters  ?    But  souls  must  be  saved  1 

O  synagoffue  lights,  be  ye  witnesses  bold 
That  momer  and  child  died  of  hunger  and  cold 
Where  millions  are  squandered  in  idle  display; 
That  men,  all  unheeded,  must  starve  by  the  way. 
Then  hold  back  your  flame,  blessed  lights,  hold  it 

fasti 
The  great  day  of  judgment  will  come  at  the  last. 
Before  the  wnite  throne,  where  imposture  is  vain. 
Ye  lights  for  the  soul,  ye'U  be  lighted  again  I 
And  upward  your  flame  there  shall  mount  as  on 

wings. 
And  damn  the  existing  false  order  of  things  I 


a3 


THE  PALE  OPERATOR 

If  but  with  my  pen  I  could  draw  him, 
With  terror  you'd  look  in  his  face; 

For  he,  since  the  first  day  I  saw  him. 
Has  sat  there  and  sewed  in  his  place. 

Years  pass  in  procession  unending, 
And  ever  the  pale  one  is  seen, 

As  over  his  work  he  sits  bending. 
And  fights  with  the  soulless  machine. 

I  feel,  as  I  gaze  at  each  feature. 
Perspiring  and  grimy  and  wan. 

It  is  not  the  strength  of  the  creature,— 
The  will  only,  urges  him  on. 

And  ever  the  sweat-drops  are  flowing. 
They  fall  o'er  his  thin  cheek  in  streams. 

They  water  the  stuff  he  is  sewing. 
And  soak  themselves  into  the  seams. 

How  long  shall  the  wheel  yet,  I  pray  you. 
Be  chased  by  the  pale  artisan  ? 

And  what  shall  the  ending  be,  say  you? 
Resolve  the  dark  riddle  who  canl 

I  know  that  it  cannot  be  reckoned,— 
But  one  thing  the  future  will  show: 

When  this  man  has  vanished,  a  second 
Will  sit  in  his  place  there  and  sew. 


24 


THE  BEGGAR  FAMILY 

Within  the  court,  before  the  judge, 
There  stand  six  wretched  creatures, 
They're  lame  and  weary,  one  and  all. 
With  pinched  and  pallid  features. 
The  father  is  a  broken  man, 
The  mother  weak  and  ailing. 
The  little  children,  skin  and  bone, 
With  fear  and  hunger  wailing. 

Their  sins  are  very  great,  and  call 

Aloud  for  retribution, 

For  their's  (maybe  you  guess  I)  the  crime 

Of  hopeless  destitution. 

They  look  upon  the  judge's  face, 

They  know  what  judges  ponder, 

They  know  the  punishment  that  waits 

On  those  that  beg  and  wander. 

For  months  from  justice  they  have  fled 

Along  the  streets  and  highways, 

From  farm  to  farm,  from  town  to  town, 

Along  the  lanes  and  byways. 

They  ve  slept  full  oftentimes  in  jail. 

They're  known  in  many  places; 

Yet  still  they  live,  for  all  the  woe 

That's  stamped  upon  their  faces. 


»S 


The  woman's  chill  with  fear.    The  man 

Implores  the  judge:    "Oh  tell  us, 

What  wiU  you?    With  our  children  smaU 

Relentlessly  expel  us? 

Oh  let  us  be  I    We'll  sleep  at  night 

In  comers  dark;   the  city 

Has  room  for  all  I    And  some  kind  soul 

Will  give  a  crust  in  pity. 

'Tor  wife  and  children  I  will  toil : 

It  cannot  be  much  longer 

(For  God  almighty  is  and  good!) 

Ere  I  for  work  am  stronger. 

Oh  let  us  here  with  men  remain, 

Nor  drive  us  any  further  I 

Oh  why  our  curses  will  you  have, 

And  not  our  blessings  rather  I" 

And  now  the  sick  man  quails  before 
The  judge's  piercing  glances : 
"No,  only  two  of  you  shall  go 
This  time  and  tr'ce  your  chances. 
Your  wife  and  you  I    The  children  four 
You'll  leave,  my  man,  behind  you. 
For  them,  within  the  Orphan's  Home, 
Free  places  I  will  find  you." 


26 


The  father's  dumb— the  mother  shrieks: 

"^f^;^  babes  and  me  you'd  sever? 

If  God  there  be,  such  cruel  act 

Shall  find  forgiveness  never  I 

But  first,  oh  judge,  must  you  condemn 

To  death  their  wretched  mother— 

I  cannot  leave  my  children  dear 

With  you  or  any  other  I 

"I  bore  and  nursed  them,  struggling  still 
To  shelter  and  to  shield  them, 
Oh  judge,  I'll  beg  from  door  to  door, 
My  very  life-blood  yield  them  I 
I  know  you  do  not  mean  it,  judge, 
With  us  poor  folk  you're  jesting. 
Give  back  my  babes,  and  further  yet 
We'll  wander  unprotesting." 

The  judge,  alas  I  has  turned  away, 

The  paper  dread  unrolled. 

And  useless  all  the  mother's  grief. 

The  wild  and  uncontrolled. 

More  cruel  can  a  sentence  be 

Than  that  which  now  is  given? 

Oh  cursed  the  S3rstem  'neath  whose  swa> 

The  human  heart  is  riven  I 


27 


A  MILLIONAIRE 

No,  not  from  tuninjg;-forks  of  gold 

Take  I  my  key  for  singing; 
From  Upper  Seats  no  order  bold 

Can  set  mv  music  ringing; 
But  groans  the  slave  through  sense  of  wrong, 

And  naught  my  voice  can  smother; 
As  flame  leaps  up,  so  leaps  my  song 

For  my  oppressed  brother. 

And  thus  the  end  comes  swift  and  sure  .     . 

Thus  life  itself  must  leave  me; 
For  what  can  these  my  brothers  poor 

In  compensation  give  me. 
Save  tears  for  ev'ry  tear  and  sigh?— 

(For  they  are  rich  in  anguish). 
A  millionaire  of  tears  am  I, 

And  mid  my  millions  languish. 


28 


SEPTEMBER  MELODIES 


The  summer  is  overl 

'Tis  windy  and  chilly. 

The  flowers  are  dead  in  the  dale. 

All  beauty  has  faded, 

The  rose  and  the  lily 

In  death-sleep  lie  withered  and  pale. 

Now  hurries  the  stormwind 

A  mournful  procession 

Of  leaves  and  dead  flowers  along, 

Now  murmurs  the  forest 

Its  dying  confession, 

And  hushed  is  the  holiest  song. 

Their  "prayers  of  departure" 
The  wild  birds  are  singing. 
They  fly  to  the  wide  stormy  main. 
Oh  tell  me,  ye  loved  ones. 
Whereto  are  ye  winging? 
Oh  answer:  when  come  ye  again? 

Oh  hark  to  the  wailing 

For  joys  that  have  vanished ! 

The  answer  is  heavy  with  pain: 

Alas!     We  know  only 

That  hence  we  are  banished  — 

But  God  knows  of  coming  again! 


29 


II 


The  Tklve8*-man  has  blown  his  horn, 
And  switt  the  days'  declining; 
The  leaves  drop  off,  in  fields  forlorn 
Are  tender  grasses  pining. 

The  earth  will  soon  be  cold  and  bare. 
Her  robe  of  glory  falling; 
Already  to  the  mourner's  prayer 
The  last  wild  bird  is  calling. 

He  sings  so  sweetly  and  so  sad 
A  song  of  friends  who  parted, 
That  even  if  it  find  you  glad. 
It  leaves  you  broken  hearted. 

The  copses  shudder  in  the  breeze. 
Some  dream-known  terror  fearing. 
Awake!     O  great  and  little  trees! 
The  Judgment-day  is  nearing ! 

O  men !    O  trees  in  copses  cold ! 
Beware  the  rising  weather ! 
Or  late  or  soon,  both  young  ^nd  old 
Shall  strew  the  ground  together.     . 

*Tkiye:  first  blast  of  the  Ram's  bom. 


30 


DEPRESSION 

All  the  vtrivins,  all  the  failing, 
To  the  silent  Nothing  sailing. 
Swiftly,  swiftly  passing  by! 
For  the  land  of  shadows  leaving, 
Where  a  wistful  hand  is  v/eaving 
Thy  still  woof,  Eternity! 

Gloomy  thoughts  in  me  awaken. 
And  with  fear  my  breast  is  shaken. 
Thinking:    O  thou  black  abyss ; 
All  the  toil  and  thrift  of  life, 
All  the  struggle  and  the  strife. 
Shall  it  come  at  last  to  this? 

With  the  grave  shall  be  requited 

Good  and  evil,  and  united 

Ne'er  to  separate  again  ? 

What  the  light  hath  parted  purely. 

Shall  the  darkness  join  more  surely?— 

Was  the  vict'ry  won  in  vain? 

O  mute  and  infinite  extension, 

O  time  beyond  our  comprehension. 

Shall  thought  and  deed  ungamered  fall? 

Ev'rything  dost  take  and  slay, 

Ev'rything  dost  bear  away, 

Silent  Nothing,  silent  All  1     .     .     . 


31 


THE  CANARY 

The  free  canary  warbles 

In  leafy  forest  dell: 

Who  feels  what  rapture  thrills 

And  who  her  joy  can  tell? 


her, 


The  sweet  canary  warbles 
Where  wealth  and  splendor  dwell: 
Who  knows  what  sorrow  moves  her, 
And  who  her  pain  can  tell? 


3« 


WANT  AND  I 

Who's  there  ?  who's  there  ?  who  was  it  tried 
To  force  the  entrance  I've  denied? 
An  'twere  a  friend,  I'd  gladly  borne  it, 
But  no— 'twas  Wantl     I  could  have  sworn 
I  heard  thy  voice,  old  witch,  I  know  thee ! 
Avaunt,  thou  evil  hagf,  beshrew  thee ! 
God's  curse  1  why  seekest  thou  to  find  me  ? 
Away  to  all  black  years  behind  ne ! 

To  torture  me  wj:  thine  endeavor, 
My  body  from  my  soul  to  sever, 
Of^  pride  and  courage  to  deprive  me. 
And  into  beggary  to  drive  me. 
Begone,  where  thousand  devils  burn— 
Begone,  nor  evermore  return ! 
Begone,  most  wretched  thou  of  creatures, 
And  hide  for  aye  thine  hateful  features ! 
—Beloved,  ope  the  door  in  pity! 

No  friend  have  I  in  all  the  city 
Save  thee,  then  open  to  my  call ! 
The  night  is  bleak,  the  snowflakes  fall. 
Thine  own,  old  Want  am  I,  believe  me ! 
Ah,  what  delight,  wilt  thou  receive  me? 
I  found,  when  I  from  thee  had  parted, 
No  friend  but  he  was  fickle-hearted ! 


it. 


Away,  old  hag!    Thou  liest,  lo, 
Thou  harbinger  of  pain  and  woe ! 
Away— am  I  thine  only  friend? 
Thy  lovers  pale,  they  have  no  end ! 
Thou  vile  one,  may  the  devil  take  thee! 
Begone  and  no  more  visits  make  me! 
For— Yiddish  writers  not  to  mention— 
Men  hold  thee  no  such  rare  invention. 

— 'Tis  true!  yet  those  must  wait  my  leisure. 
To  be  with  thee  is  now  my  pleasure. 
I  love  thy  black  and  curling  hair, 
I  love  thy  wounded  heart's  despair, 
I  love  thy  sighs,  I  love  to  swallow 
Thy  tears  and  all  thy  songs  to  follow. 
Oh  great  indeed,  might  I  but  show  it, 
My  love  for  thee,  my  pale-faced  poet ! 

Away,  I've  heard  all  that  before. 
And  am  a  writer,  mark,  no  more. 
Instead  of  verses,  wares  I  tell, 
And  candy  and  tobacco  sell. 
My  life  is  sweet,  my  life  is  bitter. 
I'm  ready  and  a  prompt  acquitter. 
Oh,  smarter  traders  there  are  many, 
Y^t  live  I  well  and  turn  a  penny. 


34 


—A  dealer  then  wilt  thou  remain, 
Forever  from  the  pen  abstain  ? 
Gooa  resolutions  time  disperses: 
Thou  ^et  shalt  hunger  o'er  thy  verses, 
But  vainly   eeking  to  excuse  thee 
Because  thou  dost,  tonight,  refuse  me. 
Then  open,  fool,  I  tell  thee  plain, 
That  we  perforce  shall  meet  again. 

Begone  the  way  that  I  direct  thee ! 
I've  millionaires  now  to  protect  me; 
No  need  to  beg,  no  need  to  borrow, 
Nor  fear  a  penniless  tomorrow. 
Nor  walk  with  face  of  blackest  omen 
To  thrill  the  hearts  of  stupid  foemen. 
Who  fain  my  pride  to  earth  would  bring. 
Because,  forsooth,  I  sweetly  sing ! 

—Ho  ho  1  ere  thou  art  grown  much  older. 
Thy  millionaires  will  all  grow  colder. 
Thou  soon  shalt  be  forgotten  by  them— 
They've  other  things  to  occupy  theml 
Just  now  with  thee  they're  playing  kindly. 
But  fortune's  wheel  is  turning  blindly 
To  grind  thy  pleasures  ere  thou  know  it— 
And  thou  art  left  to  me,  my  poet  1 


35 


THE  PHANTOM  VESSEL 

Now  the  last,  long  rays  of  sunset 
To  the  tree-tops  are  ascending, 
And  the  ash-gray  evening  shadows 
Weave  themselves  around  the  earth. 

On  the  crest  of  yonder  mountain. 
Now  are  seen  from  out  the  distance 
Slowly  fading  crimson  traces; 
Footprints  of  the  dying  day. 

Blood-stained  banners,  torn  and  tattered. 
Hanging  in  the  western  corner, 
Dip  their  parched  and  burning  edges 
In  the  cooling  ocean  wave. 

Smoothly  roll  the  crystal  wavelets 
Through  the  dusky  veils  of  twilight. 
That  are  trembling  down  from  heaven 
O'er  the  bosom  of  the  sea. 

Soft  a  little  wind  is  blowing 
O'er  the  gently  rippling  waters— 
What  they  whisper,  what  they  murmur. 
Who  is  wise  enough  to  say? 

Broad  her  snow-white  sails  outspreading 
'Gainst  the  quiet  sky  of  evening, 
Flies  a  ship  without  a  sailor, 
Flies— and  whither,  who  can  tell? 


36 


As  by  magic  moves  the  rudder; 
Borne  upon  her  snowy  pinions 
Flies  the  ship— as  tho'  a  spirit 
Drove  her  onward  at  its  will  1 

Empty  is  she,  and  deserted, 
Only  close  beside  the  mainmast 
Stands  a  lonely  child,  heartbroken, 
Sobbing  loud  and  bitterly. 

Long  and  golden  curls  are  falling 
Down  his  neck  and  o'er  his  shoulders; 
Now  he  glances  backward  sighing, 
And  the  silent  ship  flies  on  i 

With  a  little,  shinine  kerchief, 
Fluttering  upon  the  breezes, 
Unto  me  he  sends  a  greeting, 
Fr<Mn  afar  he  waves  farewell. 

And  my  heart  is  throbbing  wildly, 
I  am  weeping— tell  me  wherefore? 
God!  that  lovely  child,  I  know  him! 
'Tis  my  youth  that  flies  from  me ! 


37 


TO  MY  MISERY 

O  Misery  of  mine,  no  other 

In  faithfulness  can  match  with  thee, 

Thou  more  than  friend,  and  more  than  brother, 
The  only  thing  that  cares  for  me! 

Where'er  I  turn,  are  unkind  faces. 
And  hate  and  treachery  and  guile. 

Thou,  Mis'ry,  in  all  times  and  places, 
Dost  greet  me  with  thy  pallid  smile. 

At  birth  I  found  thee  waiting  for  me, 

I  knew  thee  in  my  cradle  first, 
The  same  small  eyes  and  dim  watched  o'er  me, 

The  same  dry,  bony  fingers  nursed. 

And  day  by  day  when  morning  lightened, 
To  school  thou  led'st  me— home  did'st  bring, 

And  thine  were  all  the  blooms  that  brightened 
The  chilly  landscape  of  my  spring. 

And,  thou  my  match  and  marriage  monger. 
The  marriage  deed  by  thee  was  read; 

The  hands  foretelling  need  and  hunger 
Were  laid  in  blessing  on  my  head. 

Thy  love  for  me  shall  last  unshaken, 
No  further  proof  I  ask,  for  when 

My  hopes  for  aye  were  from  me  taken. 
My  Mis'ry,  thou  wert  with  me  then; 


38 


I 


And  still,  while  sorrow's  storm  Is  breaking 
Above  me,  and  my  head  I  bow— 

The  kindly  and  the  unforsaking, 
Oh  Mis*ry,  thou  art  with  me  now. 

Ay,  still  from  out  Fate's  gloomy  towers 

I  see  thee  come  to  me  again, 
With  wreaths  of  everlasting  flowers, 

And  songs  funereal  in  thy  train. 

And  when  life's  curses  rock  me  nightly. 
And  hushec^  I  lie  in  slumber's  hold, 

Thy  sable  form  comes  treading  lightly 
To  wrap  me  in  its  garments  fold. 

Thy  brother  let  me  be,  and  wholly 
Repay  thee  all  I  owe,  tho'  late : 

My  aching  heart,  my  melancholy, 
My  songs  to  thee  I  dedicate. 


^9 


O  LONG  THE  WAY 

O  long  the  way  and  short  the  day, 
No  light  in  tower  or  town, 

The  waters  roar  and  far  the  shore— 
My  ship,  my  ship  goes  down! 

Tis  all  in  vain  to  strive  again, 
My  cry  the  billows  drown, 

The  fight  is  done,  the  wind  has  won— 
My  ship,  my  ship  goes  down ! 

Bright  sun,  adieu  I    Thou'lt  shine  anew 
When  skies  no  longer  frown. 

But  I— the  deafening  billows  crash— 
My  ship,  my  ship  goes  down  1 


40 


TO  THE  FORTUNE  SEEKER 

A  little  more,  a  little  less  I— 

O  shadow-hunters  pitiless, 

Why  then  so  eager,  say  1 

What'er  you  leave  the  srave  will  take, 

And  all  you  gain  and  ail  you  make. 

It  will  not  last  a  day! 

Full  soon  will  come  the  Reaper  Black, 
Cut  thorns  and  flowers  mark  his  track 
Across  Life's  meadow  blithe. 
Oppose  him,  meet  him  as  you  will. 
Old  Time's  behests  he  barkens  still, 
Unsparing  wields  his  scythe. 

A  horrid  mutiny  by  stealth 

Breaks  out,— of  power,  fame  and  wealth 

Deserted  you  shall  be  1 

The  foam  upon  your  lip  is  rife; 

The  last  enigma  now  of  Life 

Shall  Death  resolve  for  thee. 

You  call  for  help— 'tis  all  in  vainl 
What  have  you  tor  your  toil  and  pain. 
What  have  you  at  the  last? 
Poor  luckless  hunter,  are  you  dumb? 
This  way  the  cold  pall-bearers  come: 
A  beggar's  soul  has  passed  I 

A  little  less,  a  little  morel- 
Look  forth,  loi  k  forth  1  without  the  door 
There  stands  a  robber  old. 
He'll  force  your  ev'ry  lock  and  spring. 
And  all  your  goods  he'll  take  and  fling 
On  Stygian  waters  cold. 

41 


i 


'Dl 


MY  YOUTH 

Come,  beneath  yon  verdant  branches, 

Come,  my  own,  with  me  1 

Come,  and  there  my  soul  will  open 

Secret  doors  to  thee. 

Yonder  shalt  thou  learn  the  secrets 

Deep  within  my  breast. 

Where  my  love  upsprings  eternal;— 

Come!  with  pain  opprest. 

Yonder  all  the  truth  I'll  tell  tliee, 

Tell  it  thee  with  tears     .     .     . 

(Ah,  so  long  have  we  been  parted, 

Years  of  youth,  sweet  years  1 ) 

See'st  thou  the  dancers  floating 

On  a  stream  of  sound? 

There  alone,  the  soul  entrancing. 

Happiness  is  found! 

Magic  music,  hark!  it  calls  us, 

Ringing  wild  and  sweet ! 

One,  two,  three!— beloved,  haste  thee, 

Point  thy  dainty  feet! 

Now  at  last  I  feel  that  living 

Is  no  foolish  jest     .     .     . 

(O  sweet  years  of  youth  departed, 

Vanished  with  the  rest!) 


4« 


Fiddler,  play  a  little  longer! 
Why  this  hurr>,  say? 
Pm  but  half-way  through  a  measure- 
Yet  a  little  play  I 
Smiline  in  her  wreath  of  flowers 
Is  my  love  not  fair  ? 
See  us  in  the  charmed  circle, 
Flitting  light  as  air! 
Haste  thee,  loved  one,  for  the  music 
Shall  be  hushed  anon     .     .     . 
(O  sweet  years  of  youth  departed, 
Whither  are  ye  gone?) 

Gracious  youth  of  mine,  so  quickly 

Hath  it  come  to  this? 

Lo,  where  flowed  the  golden  river. 

Yawns  the  black  abyss! 

Where,  oh  where  is  my  beloved, 

Where  the  wreath  of  flowers? 

Where,  oh  where  the  merry  fiddler, 

Where  those  happy  hours? 

Shall  I  never  hear  the  echoes 

Of  those  sones  again  ? 

Oh,  on  what  hills  are  they  ringing. 

O'er  what  sunny  plain? 

May  not  I  from  out  the  distance 

Cast  one  backward  glance 

On  that  fair  and  lost  existence. 

Youth's  sweet  dalliance? 

Foolish  dreamer!    Time  hath  snatched  it, 

And,  tho'  man  implore, 

Toys  that  he  hath  reaped  and  garnered 

Bloom  again  no  more ! 


'I 

•'I 

n 


43 


''I 


<vt 


IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

Alone  in  desert  dreary, 
A  bird  with  folded  wings 
Beholds  the  waste  about  her, 
And  sweetly,  sweetly  sings. 

So  heaven-sweet  her  singing, 
So  clear  the  bird  notes  flow, 
'Twould  seem  the  rocks  must  waken, 
The  desert  vibrant  grow. 

Dead  rocks  and  silent  mountains 
Would'st  waken  with  thy  strain,— 
But  dumb  are  still  the  mountains. 
And  dead  the  rocks  remain. 

For  whom,  O  heavenly  singer. 
Thy  song  so  clear  and  free? 
Who  hears  or  sees  or  heeds  thee, 
Who  feels  or  cares  for  thee  ? 

Thou  may'st  outpour  in  music 
Thy  very  soul    •    .    .    'Twere  vain ! 
In  stone  thou  canst  not  waken 
A  throb  of  joy  or  pain. 

Thy  song  shall  soon  be  silenced; 
I  feel  it     .     .     .     For  I  know 
Thy  heart  is  near  to  bursting 
With  loneliness  and  woe. 

Ah,  vain  is  thine  endeavor; 
It  naught  availeth— nay; 
For  lonely  as  thou  earnest, 
So  shalt  thou  pass  away. 
44 


I'VE  OFTEN  LAUGHED 

I've  often  laughed  and  oftener  still  have  wept, 
A  sighing  always  through  my  laughter  cr^-.t, 
Tears  were  not  far  away     .     .     . 
What  is  there  to  say? 

I've  spoken  much  and  oftener  held  by  tongue, 
For  still  the  most  was  neither  said  nor  sung. 
Could  I  but  tell  it  so     .     .     . 
What  is  there  to  know  ? 

I've  hated  much  and  loved,  oh  so  much  more ! 
Fierce  contrasts  at  my  very  heartstrings  tore  . 
I  tried  to  fight  them— well     .     .     . 
What  is  there  to  tell? 


45 


LI 


AGAIN  I  SING  MY  SONGS 

Once  again  my  songs  I  sing  thee, 

Now  the  spell  is  broken; 
Brothers,  yet  again  I  bring  thee 

Songs  of  love  the  token. 
Of  my  joy  and  of  my  sorrow 

Gladly,  sadly  bringing;— 
Summer  not  a  song  would  borrow  — 

Winter  sets  me  singing. 

O  when  life  turns  sad  and  lonely. 

When  our  joys  are  dead ; 
When  are  heard  the  ravens  only 

In  the  trees  o'erhead; 
When  the  stormwind  on  the  bowers 

Wreaks  its  wicked  will, 
When  the  frost  paints  lying  flowers. 
How  should  I  be  still  ? 

When  the  clouds  are  low  descending, 

And  the  sun  is  drowned ; 
When  the  winter  knows  no  ending, 

And  the  cold  is  crowned; 
When  with  evil  gloom  oppressed 

Lie  the  ruins  bare; 
When  a  sigh  escapes  the  breast. 

Takes  us  unaware; 


46 


When  the  snow>wrapped  mountain  dreams 

Of  its  summer  gladness, 
When  the  wood  is  stripped  and  seems 

Full  of  care  and  sadness; 
When  the  songs  are  growing  still 

As  in  Death's  repose, 
And  the  heart  is  growing  chill, 

And  the  eyelids  close; 

Then,  O  then  I  can  but  sing 

For  I  dream  her  coming- 
May,  sweet  May !  I  see  her  bring 

Buds  and  wild-bee  humming! 
Through  the  silence  heart-appalling, 

As  1  stand  and  listen, 
I  can  hear  her  song-birds  calling. 

See  her  green  leaves  glisten  1 

Thus  again  my  songs  I  sing  thee, 

Now  the  spell  is  broken; 
Brothers,  yet  again  I  bring  thee 

Of  my  love  the  token. 
Of  my  joy  and  of  my  sorrow 

Gladly,  sadly  bringing,— 
Summer  not  a  song  would  borrow  1— 

Winter  sets  me  singing. 


II 


47 


LIBERTY 

When  night  and  silence  deep 
Hold  all  the  world  in  sleep, 
As  tho'  Death  claimed  the  Hour, 
By  some  strange  witchery 
Appears  her  form  to  me, 
As  tho'  Magic  were  her  dow'r. 

Her  beauty  heaven's  light! 
Her  bosom  snowy  white  1 
But  pale  her  cheek  appears. 
Her  shoulders  firm  and  fair; 
A  mass  of  gold  her  hair. 
Her  eyes— the  home  of  tears. 

She  looks  at  me  nor  speaks. 
Her  arms  are  raised;  she  seeks 
Her  fettered  hands  to  show. 
On  both  white  wrists  a  chain!— 
She  cries  and  pleads  in  pain: 
"Unbind  me !—     Let  me  go !" 

I  bum  with  bitter  ire, 
I  leap  in  wild  desire 
The  cruel  bonds  to  break; 
But  God!  around  the  chain 
Is  coiled  and  coiled  again 
A  long  and  loathsome  snake. 


+i» 


I  shout,  I  cry,  I  chide; 
My  voice  goes  far  and  wide, 
A  ringing  call  to  men: 
"Oh  come,  let  in  the  light  1 
Arise!     Ye  have  the  might  1 
Set  Freedom  free  again  1" 

They  sleep.     But  I  strive  on. 

They  sleep  I    .    .    .    Can'st  wake  a  stone  ? 

That  one  mieht  stir  I  but  one  I 

Call  I,  or  hold  my  peace, 

None  comes  to  her  release ; 

And  hope  for  her  is  none. 

But  who  may  see  her  plight 

And  not  go  mad  outright!     .     .     . 

"Now:  up!    For  Freedom's  sake!" 

I  spring  to  take  her  part:— 

"Fool  1    cries  a  voice.     I  start     .     .     . 

In  anguish  I  awake. 


49 


A  TREE  IN  THE  GHETTO 

There  stands  in  th'  leafless  Ghetto 
One  spare-leaved,  ancient  tree; 
Above  the  Ghetto  noises 
It  moans  eternally. 

In  wonderment  it  muses, 
And  m.urmurs  with  a  sigh: 
"Alas  I  how  God-forsaken 
And  desolate  am  I ! 

"Alas,  the  stony  alleys. 
And  noises  loud  and  bold  I 
Where  are  ye,  birds  of  summer? 
Where  are  ye,  woods  of  old? 

"And  where,  ye  breezes  balmy 
That  wandered  vagrant  here? 
And  where,  oh  sweep  of  heavens 
So  deep  and  blue  and  clear? 

"Where  are  ye,  mighty  giants? 
Ye  come  not  riding  by 
Upon  your  fiery  horses, 
A-whistling  merrily. 

"Of  other  days  my  dreaming. 
Of  other  days,  ah  mel 
When  sturdy  hero-races 
Lived  wild  and  glad  and  free ' 


50 


"The  old  sun  shone,  how  brightly  I 
The  old  lark  sang,  what  song  I 
O'er  earth  Desire  and  Gladness 
Reigned  happily  and  long 

"But  seel  what  are  these  ant-hills?— 
These  ants  that  -eep  and  crawl  ? 
Bereft  of  man  and  nature. 
My  life  is  stripped  of  all  I 

"And  I,  an  ancient  orphan, 
What  do  I  here  alone  i 
My  friends  have  all  departed. 
My  youth  and  glory  gone. 

"Oh,  tear  me,  root  and  branches  1 
No  longer  let  me  be 
A  living  head-stone,  brooding 
O'er  the  grave  of  liberty." 


5« 


THE  CEMETERY  NIGHTINGALE 

in  the  hills'  embraces  holden, 

In  a  valley  filled  with  glooms, 
Lies  a  cemetery  olden, 

Strewn  with  countless  mould'ring  tombs. 

Ancient  graves  o'erhuns  with  mosses. 
Crumbling  stones,  effaced  and  green,— 

Venturesome  is  he  who  crosses, 
Night  or  day,  the  lonely  scene. 

Blasted  trees  and  willow  streamers, 
'Midst  the  terror  round  them  spread. 

Seem  like  awe-bound,  silent  dreamers 
In  this  garden  of  the  dead. 

One  bu-d,  anguish  stricken,  lingers 

In  the  shadow  of  the  vale, 
First  and  best  of  feathered  singers,— 

'Tis  the  churchyard  nighdn^e. 

As  from  bough  to  bough  he  flutters, 
Sweetest  songs  of  woe  and  wail 

Through  his  gift  divine  he  utters 
For  the  dreamers  in  the  vale. 

Listen  how  his  trills  awaken 
Echoes  from  each  mossy  stone  I 

Of  all  places  he  has  taken 
God's  still  Acre  for  his  own. 


!• 


Not  on  Spring  or  Summer  glory, 
Not  on  god  or  angel  story 
Loyal  poet-fanqr  dwells! 
Not  on  streams  for  rich  men  flowing, 
Not  on  fields  for  rich  men's  mowing, - 
Graves  he  sees,  of  graves  he  tells. 
Pain,  oppression,  woe  eternal. 
Open  heart-wounds  deep,  diurnal. 
Nothing  comforts  or  allays; 
O'er  God's  Acre  in  each  nation 
Sings  he  songs  of  tribulation 
Tunes  his  golden  harp  and  plays. 


53 


THE  CREATION  OF  MAN 

When  the  world  was  first  created 
By  th'  all-wise  Eternal  One, 
Asked  he  none  for  help  or  counsel,— 
Simply  spake,  and  it  was  done  I 

Made  it  for  his  own  good  pleasure, 
Shaped  it  on  his  own  design. 
Spent  a  long  day's  work  upon  it. 
Formed  it  fair  and  very  nnc. 

Soon  he  thought  on  man's  creation,— 
Then  perplexities  arose. 
So  the  Lord  His  winged  Senate 
Called,  th..  question  to  propose: 

Hear,  my  great  ones,  why  I  called  ye. 
Hear  and  help  me  ye  who  can, 
Hear  and  tell  me  how  I  further 
Shall  proceed  in  making  man. 

Ponder  well  before  ye  answer, 
And  consider,  children  dear;— 
In  our  image  I  would  make  him. 
Free  from  stain,  from  blemish  clear. 

Of  my  holy  fire  I'd  give  him, 
Crowned  monarch  shall  he  be. 
Ruling  with  a  sway  unquestioned 
Over  earth  and  air  and  sea. 


54 


Birds  acroM  the  blue  sky  winging 
Swift  shall  fly  before  his  face,— 
Silver  fishes  in  the  ocean, 
Savage  lion  in  the  chase. 

—How?   This  toy  of  froth  and  vapor. 
Thought  the  Senate,  filled  with  fear, 
If  so  wide  his  kingdom  stretches. 
Shortly  he  will  break  in  here  I 

So  the  Lord  they  answered,  saying:— 
Mind  and  strength  Thy  creature  give, 
Form  him  in  our  very  image. 
Lord,  but  wingless  let  him  live  1 

Lest  he  shame  the  soaring  eagle 
Let  no  wings  to  man  be  giv'n. 
Bid  him  o'er  the  earth  be  ruler, 
Lord,  but  keep  him  out  of  heav'nl 

Wisely  said,  the  Lord  made  answer, 
Lo,  your  counsel  fair  I  take  I 
Yet,  my  Senate,  one  exception- 
One  alone,  I  will  to  malu. 

One  exception  I  for  the  poet, 
For  the  singer,  shall  have  wings; 
He  the  gates  of  Heav'n  shall  enter. 
Highest  of  created  things. 

One  I  single  from  among  ye, 
One  to  watch  the  ages  long, 
Promptly  to  admit  the  poet 
When  he  heart  his  holy  song. 


S$ 


JOURNALISM 

Written  today,  and  read  today, 
And  stale  the  news  tomorrow  I— 
Upon  the  sands  I  build     .     .     . 
I  play,  and  weep  in  sorrow; 
"Ah  ^ 


I  play  I 


Lh  God,  dear  God  I  to  find  cessation 
From  this  soul-crushing  occupation  1 
If  but  one  year  ere  Thou  dost  call  me  Thitl^r, 
Lord,  at  this  blighting  task  let  me  not  wither." 


56 


PEN  AND  SHEARS 

Mt  tailor's  shears  I  scomid  then; 

I  strove  for  something  higher: 
To  edit  news— live  by  the  pen— 

The  pen  that  shall  not  tire! 

The  pen,  that  was  my  humble  slave, 

Has  now  enslaved  its  master; 
And  fast  as  flows  its  Midas-wave, 

My  rebel  tears  flow  faster. 

The  world  I  clad  once,  tailor-hired, 

Whilst  I  in  tatters  ouaked, 
Today,  you  see  me  well  attired. 

Who  lets  the  world  go  naked. 

What  human  soul,  how'er  oppressed. 
Can  feel  my  chained  soul's  yearning  I 

A  monster  woe  lies  in  my  breast. 
In  voiceless  anguish  burning. 

Oh,  swing  ajar  the  shop  door,  do  1 

I'll  bear  as  ne'er  I  bore  it. 
My    blood!     .     .     .    you    sweatshop    leeches, 
you!     .     .     . 

Now  less  I'll  blame  you  for  it. 

I'll  stitch  as  ne'er  in  former  years; 

I'll  drive  the  mad  wheel  faster; 
Slave  will  I  be  but  to  the  shears; 

The  pen  shall  know  its  master  1 


57 


FOR  HIRE 

Work  with  might  and  main, 

Or  with  hand  and  heart. 
Work  with  soul  and  brain, 

Or  with  holy  art, 
Thread,  or  genius'  fire— 

Make  a  vest,  or  verse— 
If  'tis  done  for  hire. 

It  is  done  the  worse. 


f^i 


A  FELLOW  SLAVE 

Pale-faced  it  he,  as  in  the  door 
He  ttandt  and  trembles  visibly,— 
With  diffidence  approaches  me, 
And  nmy:     "Dear  editor, 

"Since  write  you  must,  in  prose  or  rhyme. 
Expose  my  master's  knavery,— 
Condemn,  I  pray,  the  slavery 
That  dominates  our  time. 

"I  labor  for  a  wicked  man 
Who  holds  o'er  all  my  being  sway,— 
Who  keeps  me  harnessed  night  and  day. 
Since  work  I  first  began. 

"No  leisure  moments  do  I  store. 
Yet  harsh  words  only  will  he  speak ; 
My  davs  are  his,  from  week  to  week. 
But  still  he  cries  for  more. 

"Oh  print,  I  beg  you,  all  I've  said. 
And  ask  the  world  if  this  be  ri^ht  : 
To  give  the  woricer  wage  so  slight 
That  he  must  want  for  br^tad. 

"See,  I  have  sinews  powerful, 
And  I've  endurance,  subtle  skill,— 
Yet  may  not  use  them  at  my  will. 
But  live  a  master's  tool. 


59 


"But  oh,  without  avail  do  I 
Lav  bare  the  woes  of  workingmen  I 
Who  earns  his  living  by  the  pen, 
Feels  not  our  misery."' 

The  pallid  slave  yet  paler  grew, 
And  ended  here  his  bitter  cry     .     .     . 
And  thus  to  him  I  made  reply: 
"My  friend,  you  judge  untrue. 

"My  strength  and  skill,  like  yours,  are  gain 
For  others     .     .     .     Soldi     .     .     .You 

understand  ? 
Your  master— well — he  owns  your  hand. 
And  mine— he  owns  my  brain." 


THE  JEWISH  MAY 

May  has  come  from  out  the  showers, 
Sun  and  splendor  in  her  train. 
All  the  grasses  and  the  flowers 
Waken  up  to  life  again. 
Once  agam  the  leaves  do  show, 
And  the  meadow  blossoms  blow, 
Once  again  through  hills  and  dales 
Rise  the  songs  of  nightingales. 

Wheresoe'er  on  field  or  hillside 
With  her  paint-brush  Spring  is  seen,— 
In  the  valley,  by  the  rillside. 
All  the  earth  is  decked  with  green. 
Once  again  the  sun  beguiles— 
Moves  the  drowsy  world  to  smiles. 
See  I  the  sun,  with  mother-kiss 
Wakes  her  child  to  joy  and  bliss. 

Now  each  human  feeline  presses 

Flow'r  like,  r   Tard  to  the  sun, 

Softly,  throug.i  the  heart's  recesses. 

Steal  sweet  fancies,  one  by  one. 

Golden  dreams,  their  wings  outshaking, 

Now  are  making 

Realms  celestial. 

All  of  azure. 

New  life  waking. 

Bringing  treasure 

Out  of  measure 

For  the  soul's  delight  and  pleasure. 


6i 


Who  then,  tell  me,  old  and  sad, 
Neara  us  with  a  heavy  tread? 
On  the  sward  in  verdure  clad, 
Lonely  is  the  strange  newcomer. 
Wearily  he  walks  and  slow,- 
His  sweet  sp.nnrtime  and  his  summer 
tided  long  and  long  ago! 

Say,  who  is  it  yonder  walks 
S??!****  hedgerows  decked  anew. 
While  a  fearful  spectre  stalks 
Bjr  his  side  the  woodland  through? 
Tis  our  indent  friend  the  Jew  I 
No  sweet  fancies  hover  round  him. 
Naught  but  terror  and  distress. 
Wounds  unhealed 
Where  lie  revealed 
Ghosts  of  former  recollections. 
Corpses,  corpses,  old  affections, 
Buried  youth  and  happiness. 

Brier  and  blossom  bow  to  meet  him 
In  derision  round  his  path; 
Gloomily  the  hemlocks  greet  him 
And  the  crow  screams  out  in  wrath. 
Strange  the  birds  and  strange  the  flowers, 
J.f'Jjnge  the  sunshine  seems  and  dim. 
Folk  on  earth  and  heav'nly  powers  I - 
Lo,  the  May  is  strange  to  him  I 

Little  flowers,  it  were  meeter 
If  ye  made  not  quite  so  bold : 
Sweet  ye  are,  but  oh,  far  sweeter 
Knew  he  in  the  days  of  old ! 


6a 


Oranges  by  thousands  glowing 
Filled  his  groves  on  either  hand,— 
All  the  plants  were  God's  own  sowing 
In  his  happy,  far-off  land! 

Ask  the  cedars  on  the  mountain! 
Ask  them,  for  they  know  him  well ! 
Myrtles  green  by  Sharon's  fountain, 
In  whose  shade  he  loved  to  dwell  I 
Ask  the  Mount  of  Olives  beauteous,— 
Ev'ry  tree  by  ev'ry  stream  !  — 
One  and  all  will  answer  duteous 
For  the  fair  and  ancient  dream.     .     . 

O'er  the  desert  and  the  pleasance 
Gales  of  Eden  softly  blew, 
And  the  Lord  His  loving  Presence 
Evermore  declared  anew. 
Angel  children  at  their  leisure 
Played  in  thousands  round  His  tent. 
Countless  thoughts  of  joy  and  pleasure 
God  to  His  beloved  sent. 

There  in  bygone  days  and  olden. 
From  a  wond'rous  harp  and  golden 
Charmed  he  music  spirit-haunting, 
Holy,  chaste  and  soul-enchanting. 
Never  with  the  ancient  sweetness. 
Never  in  its  old  completeness 
Shall  it  sound:  his  dream  is  ended. 
On  a  willow-bough  suspended.     .     . 


63 


Gone  that  dream  so  fair  and  fleeting! 
Yet  behold :  thou  dreamst  anew  I 
Hark !  a  new  May  gives  thee  greeting 
From  afar.     Dost  hear  it,  Jew? 
Weep  no  more,  altho'  with  sorrows 
Bow'd  e'en  to  the  grave :    I  see 
Happier  years  and  brighter  morrows, 
Dawning,  Israel,  for  thee ! 
Hear'st  thou  not  the  promise  ring 
Where,  like  doves  on  silver  wing, 
Thronging  cherubs  sweetly  sing 
Newmade  songs  of  what  shall  be  ? 

Hark !  your  olives  shall  be  shaken, 

And  your  citrons  and  your  limes 

Filled  with  fragrance.     God  shall  waken. 

Lead  you  as  in  olden  times. 

In  the  pastures  by  the  river 

Ye  once  more  your  flocks  shall  tend. 

Ye  shall  live,  and  live  forever 

Happy  lives  that  know  no  end. 

No  more  wandering,  no  more  sadness: 

Peace  shall  be  your  lot,  and  still 

Hero  hearts  shall  throb  with  gladness 

'Neath  Moriah's  silent  hill. 

Nevermore  of  dread  afflictions 

Or  oppression  need  ye  tell: 

Filled  with  joy  and  benedictions 

In  the  old  home  shall  ye  dwll. 

To  the  fatherland  returning. 

Following  the  homeward  path. 

Ye  shall  find  the  embers  burning 

Srill  upon  the  ruined  hearth  I 


64 


THE  FEAST  OF  LIGHTS 

Little  candles  glistening, 
Telling  those  are  listening 
Legends  manifold, 
Many  a  little  story, 
Tales  of  blood  and  glory 
Of  the  days  of  old. 

As  I  watch  you  flicker, 

As  I  list  you  bicker. 

Speak  the  ancient  dreams : 

-You  have  battled,  Jew,  one  time, 

You  have  conquer'd  too,  one  time. 

(God,  how  strange  it  seems!) 

In  your  midst  was  order  once. 
And  within  your  border  once 
Strangers  took  no  part. 
Jew,  you  had  a  land  one  time. 
And  an  armed  hand,  one  time. 
(How  it  moves  the  heart!) 

Glisten,  candles,  glisten! 

As  I  stand  and  listen 

All  the  grief  in  me. 

All  the  woe  is  stirred  again, 

And  the  question  heard  again: 

What  the  end  shall  be  ? 


65 


^» 


CHANUKAH  THOUGHTS 

Not  always  as  you  see  us  now, 

Have  we  been  used  to  weep  and  sigh, 

We  too  have  grasped  the  sword,  I  trow. 
And  seen  astonished  foemen  fly! 

We  too  have  rushed  into  the  fray. 

For  our  Belief  the  battle  braved, 
And  through  the  spears  have  fought  our  way. 

And  high  the  flag  of  vict'ry  waved. 

But  generations  go  and  come. 

And  suns  arise  and  set  in  tears, 
And  we  are  weakened  now  and  dumb. 

Foregone  the  might  of  ancient  years. 

In  exile  where  the  wicked  reign. 
Our  courage  and  our  pride  expired. 
But  e'en  today  each  throbbing  vein 
With  Asmonean  blood  is  fired. 

Tho'  cruel  hands  with  mighty  flail 

Have  threshed  us,  yet  we  have  not  blenched; 
7'he  sea  of  blood  could  naught  prevail, 

That  fire  is  burning,  still  unquenched. 

Our  fall  is  great,  our  fall  is  real, 

(You  need  but  look  on  us  to  tell !) 
Yet  in  us  lives  the  old  Ideal 

Which  all  the  nations  shall  not  quell. 


66 


i. 


SFERE 

I  asked  of  my  Muse,  had  she  any  objection 
To  laughing  with  me,— not  a  word  for  reply! 

You  see,  it  is  Sfere,  our  time  for  dejection, — 
And  can  a  Jew  laugh  when  the  rule  is  to  cry? 

You  laughed  then,  you  say?  'tis  a  sound  to  affright 
onel 
In  Jewish  delight,  what  is  worthy  the  name? 
The  laugh  of  a  Jew !     It  is  never  a  right  one, 
For  laughing  and  groaning  with  him  are  the 
same. 

You  thought  there  was  zest  in  a  Jewish  existence? 
You  deemd  that  the  star  of  a  Jew  could  be  kind  ? 
The  Spring  calls  and  beckons  with  gracious  in- 
sistence,— 
Jew,— sit  down  in  sackcloth  and  weep  yourself 
blind  I 

The  garden  is  green  and  the  woodland  rejoices; 
How  cool  are  the  breezes,  with  fragrance  how 
blent  I 
But  Spring  calls  not  you  with  her  thousand  sweet 
voices !  — 
With  you  it  is  Sfere, — sit  still  and  lament ! 

The  beautiful  summer,  this  life's  consolation, 
In  moaning  and  sighing  glides  quickly  away. 

What  hope  can  it  offer  to  one  of  my  nation  ? 
What  joy  can  he  find  in  the  splendors  of  May? 


67 


Bewildered  and  homeless,  of  whom  whoso  passes 
May  fearlessly  stop  to  make  sport  at  his  ease,- 

Ir  '*  u  •    •■  **'/"  *°  '"^  fi°w«"  and  grawcs, 

hor  him  to  be  thinking  on  meadows  and  trees? 

And  if  for  a  moment,  forgetting  to  ponder 
I  u      *?"  u-^"^  oppression,  song  breaks  out  anew, 
I  hear  .n  h.s  lay  onlv:    "Wander  and  wander  I" 
And  ev  ry  note  tells  me  the  singer's  a  Jew. 

A  skilful  musician,  and  one  who  is  versed 
In  metre  and  measure,  whenever  he  hears 

Ihe  pitiful  song  of  the  Jewish  dispersed, 
It  touches  his  heart  and  it  moves  him  to  tears. 

The  blast  of  the  RamVhorn  that  quavers  and 
trembles,— 
On  this,  now,  alone  Jewish  fancy  is  bent. 
°  grjef  and  contrition  its  host  it  assembles, 
And  causes  the  stoniest  heart  to  relent. 

The  wail  that  went  up  when  the  Temple  was  shat- 
tered,  — 
The  song  of  Atonement,  the  Suppliant's  psabn,- 
rhese  only  he  loves,  since  they  took  him-and 
scattered,  — 
Away  from  the  land  of  the  balsam  and  balm. 

Of  all  the  sweet  instruments,  shiver'd  and  broken. 
That  once  in  the  Temple  delighted  his  ear, 
A  ^ams-horn  alone  has  he  kept,  as  a  token, 
And  sobs  out  his  soul  on  it  once  in  the  year. 


68 


Instead  of  the  harp  and  the  viol  and  cymbal, 
Instead  of  the  lyre,  the  guitar  and  the  flute, 
He  has  but  the  dry,  wither'd  Ram's-hom,  the  sym- 
bol 

Of  gloom  and  despondence;    the  rest  all  arc 
mute. 

He  laughs,  or  he  breaks  into  song,  but  soon  after, 
Tho    fain  would  he  take  in  man's  gladness  a 

One  hearS;  low  resounding  athwart  the  gay  laugh- 
ter, 
The  Suppliant's  psalm,— and  it  pierces  the  heart. 

I  asked  of  my  Muse,  had  she  nny  objection 
To  laughing  with  me,  — not  a  word  for  reply! 

You  see,  it  is  Sfere,  our  time  for  dejection, — 
And  can  a  Jew  laugh  when  the  rule  is  to  cry? 


69 


MEASURING  THE  GRAVES 

First  old  Minna,  bent  and  lowly, 
hycs  with  weeping  nearly  blind; 

1  cssyeh-Tsvaitel,  slowly,  slowly, 
With  the  yarn  creeps  on  behind. 

On  the  holy  book  of  Minna 

Fall  the  tear-drops-scarce  a  word 

^  . .r  L        """^  "  "^°^^^  within  her) 
Uf  her  praying  can  be  heard. 

"Mighty  Lord,  whose  sovereign  pleasure 
ij?ade  all  worlds  and  men  of  dust, 
r-H  """'^'^  handmaid,  measure, 
God,  the  dwellings  of  the  just. 

"Speechless  here  the  ground  they  cumber, 

iiT^  "*^'^.*"*  P'°"»'  gracious  God, 
Where  Thy  heart's  beloved  slumber 
Lnderneath  the  quiet  sod. 

"They  who  sing  in  jubilation. 

Lord,  before  Thy  holy  seat, 
Each  one  from  his  habitation, 

1  hrough  the  dream  for  ever  sweet. 

"From  the  yarn  with  which  I  measure, 
Pfssyeh-Tsvaitel,  filled  with  awe, 

V\  icks  will  make,  to  search  the  treasure, 
Nightly,  of  Thy  holy  Law. 


70 


Praying  still,  by  faith  sustained : 
'Thou  with  whom  the  holy  dwell, 

Scorn  not  J;Kob's  prayer  unfeigned, 
Mark  the  tears  of   Israel  I'  " 


i 


71 


THE  FIRST  BATH  or  ABLUTION 

The  wind  is  keen,  the  frost  is  dread, 

Toward  the  icy  water, 
By  aunt  and  mother  forth  is  led 

The  fisher's  lovely  daughter. 

"Dive  in,  dive  in,  my  child,  w  ith  haste  i 
There's  naught  whereon  to  ponder, 

The  time,  dear  heart,  we  must  not  waste : 
The  sun  has  set  out  yonder. 

"God's  mercy,  child,  is  great  and  sure: 

Fear  not  bur  He  will  show  it  1 
Leap  in,— leap  out!  and  you  are  pure. — 

'Tis  over  ere  you  know  it!" 

The  frost  and  cold  with  cruel  knitc 

I  he  tender  form  issail. 
Ah,  would  you  be  a  Jewish  wife. 

You  must  not  weep  and  quail  1 

And  in— and  out,— she  leaps.    CMce  more! 

Poor  girl,  it  has  not  served  you. 
No  purer  are  you  than  before : 

A  Gentile  has  observed  you ! 


And  into  th'  icy  flood  again. 
In  terror  wild  she  leaps! 

The  white  limbs  shudder     .     . 
The  Christian— still  he  peeps. 


all 


m  vami 


72 


The  froit  and  cold,  they  bum  and  bite, 
The  women  rub  their  fingers, 

The  lovely  child  grows  white  — and  white, 
As  on  the  bank  she  lingers. 

"The  Law,  my  child,  we  must  fulfill. 

The  scoundrel  see  depart   ! 
Yet  once  I  'tis  but  a  moment's  chill, 

'Tis  but  a  trifling  smart!" 

The  white-faced  child  the  Law  has  kept, 

The  covenant  unstained, 
For  in  the  waters  deep  she  leapt, 

And  there  below  remained. 


73 


ATONEMENT  EVENING  PRAYER 

Atonement  Day— evening  pray'r— sadness  pro- 
found. 

The  soul-lights,  so  clear  once,  are  dying  around. 

The  reader  is  spent,  and  he  barely  can  speak; 

The  people  are  faint,  e'en  the  basso  is  weak. 

The  choristers  pine  for  the  hour  of  repose. 

Just  one— two  chants  more,  and  the  pray'r  book 
we  close! 

And  now  ev'ry  Jew's  supplication  is  ended, 
And  Nilah*  approaching,  and  twilight  descended. 
The  blast  of  the  New  Year  is  blown  on  the  horn. 
All  go;  by  the  Ark  I  am  standing  forlorn, 
And  thinking:    "How  «hall  it  be  with  us  anon, 
When  closed  is  the  temple,  and  ev'ryone  gone!" 


'Nr'ilali.    (  Hi'hrew  )    Coiuliision,  luiitliulin^  prayer. 


74 


EXIT  HOLIDAY 

Farewell  to  thf  feast-day!  the  pray'r  book  is 
stained 

With  tears;  c  e  booth  scarce  a  trace  has  re- 
mained 

The  lime  branch  i;  withered,  the  (»slers  arc  dyinp, 

And  pale  as  a  corpse  the  fair  palm-frond  is  lying; 

The  boughs  of  grey  willow  arc  trodden  and 
broken— 

Friend,  these  are  your  hopes  and  your  longings 
unspoken ! 

Lo,  there  lie  your  dreamings  all  dimm'd  and  re- 
jected, 

And  there  lie  the  joys  were  so  surely  expected ! 

And  there  is  the  happiness  blighted  and  perished. 

And  all  that  aforetime  your  soul  knew  and  cher- 
ished, 

The  loved  and  the  longed  for,  the  striven  for 
vainly— 

Your  whole  life  before  you  lies  pictured  how 
plainly! 

The  branches  are  sapless,  the  leaves  will  decay, 
An  end  is  upon  us,  and  whence,  who  sh:ill  sny? 
The  broom  of  the  beadle  outside  now  has  hustled 
The  lime  and  the  palm  that  so  pleasantly  rustled. 
There  blew  a  cold  gust,  from  our  sight  all  is  ban- 
ished— 
The  shaft  from  a  cross-bow  less  swiftly  had  van- 
ished ! 


75 


